The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I’d long since accepted that brainwashing isn’t really real, no matter how much I wanted it to be. But still, now and again, I’d go scouting around to see if maybe there were anyone out there who really knew how to wrestle my mind to the ground and leave it no choice but to admit that it was bested. I’ve found a few hypnotists who were good enough to tickle my fancy, but after a few light trances, I always found my way out of their traps. They were good at telling stories and talking in patterns, but they always left me some loophole I could exploit. I could either take their instructions too literally, or else choose to interpret them in an off the wall way, and wiggle out of any devil’s bargains that I didn’t want to be in. So, I didn’t have a lot of hope when I clicked on the link for that first recording. Maybe the lack of expectation is part of what set me up to fall so hard... I certainly wasn’t prepared at all for what happened next.

I think... bear with me, it gets a little fuzzy... I think that I wrote to Sir that same day. Maybe it was the next. I’m pretty sure I watched that video a few times, and maybe another one, too. Yeah, in the fantasies, everyone is always talking about not being able to remember what was in the video very well, etc. But no, really. There was a spiral, and Sir’s voice. (I didn’t call him Sir back then, I think I remember that I didn’t.) And I can tell you a little about the content. Forget to remember, remember to forget. And layered voices. Hidden signals in the sound. Something else... it doesn’t matter. I felt absolutely compelled to write to Sir to thank him for making the video, for posting it freely on Youtube and on his site. I’m very good at being grateful, when it is deserved.

So, that was two weeks ago. About three days in, I’d listened to enough of the audio files while staring at spirals that Sir had designed on his website that I was emailing him, begging him to take away my capacity to orgasm, entirely, forever. That was maybe a little rash, but it didn’t seem so at the time. And Sir, he was so gracious to the desperate and deprived hypno addict that had washed up on his doorstep begging for extreme reprogramming that he granted my wish in a wickedly wise fashion. “Don’t worry your bemused little head about that anymore. Your orgasms belong to me now. I’ll decide if you have one or not. It is no longer any of your concern.”

Oh.

And, indeed it was’t my concern anymore. Poof. Of course. Why hadn’t I realized that Sir controls my mind and my body and will tell me what he wants it to do, and when? Ah, because he hadn’t told me to think that yet, so I didn’t. He did have a further instruction for me, though. He wanted to hear about my frustration and desire and how it was deepening my feelings of submission to him.

So, over the past two weeks, I’ve tried to limit myself to just sending the best of the dozen or so emails of praise and devotion that came bubbling out of me ever day. Sir is generous with his time, and very kind, but I’m sure he has an army of admirers throwing themselves at his feet, and I don’t want to impose overmuch.

Meanwhile, I binged on Sir’s hypnosis files. I’ve been listening to at least 4 hours of trance files every day. There is a file that lets me practice my mantras and deepen my obedience while I work or study, so that is basically always playing in the background all day long. I have a playlist that I put on when it is time to sleep every night. I’ve been in trance almost without pause for the past two weeks. I have to be fully awake to drive to school or work, and it is rude to have in my headphones at lunch with friends or dinner with my sweetheart. I haven’t been neglecting any real world responsibilities... but only because Sir’s files have specific instructions not to disappoint him by failing to fulfill everyday obligations.

I’ve really lost track of what ideas were mine to start with, and which have been implanted. This is so intense. Did it really only start two weeks ago? I am sure that I used to not like the style of inductions that Sir uses. I remember that I once had stronger opinions about counting in hypnosis files, and I preferred rambling Ericksonian patter to the more structured style that Sir uses. And yet... I can’t get enough of his work. I found that I kind of wanted to support him, so I found his one financial domination file and listened to that, so that when I signed up to support him on Patreon, it would be his idea, not mine. I like it when I just do what he says and don’t have to think too much for myself.

I’m feel like I’m living out all the stories on this archive that used to make me so hot. Only this is real. This is really real. For the first time ever, I’m not pretending at all, not just going along with a game because I so want it to be real. I’m actually a little frightened by how real it is, and that is the ultimate sign that it is everything that I have always dreamed of. (Unless the memory of having that dream was implanted in me, to ensure my continued compliance with the programming. Sir has endorsed that I can’t really be sure of anything except what he tells me. It is a good thing that I trust him so much, because that is the only way that I know that anything is really true.)

You might think that spending this much time in trance could possibly be problematic. Some part of me does scream at me that I’m being excessive, that this might be dangerous somehow. I like to think of that part as being securely bound and kept in an out of the way corner of my mind. I like to keep it there where it can shout its warnings, but not actually stop me. Somehow, watching that part struggle and try to persuade my new persona to let it loose and to come to our senses... that just gets me hot and helps convince me that this is the real brainwashing that I’ve always wanted. Also, it reminds me of many of the sexy stories that I’ve read here, of internal but futile struggle against the inevitable subversion of the hapless victim. Yum.

But, leaving that aside, all this brainwashing is actually very good for me. Sir is wise and kind and shares so many of my values, or maybe he has given me his. (Either way, we are in perfect accord on every topic. I never stop feeling surprised and delighted at how unanimous our opinions seem to be.) He urges his listeners to be good stewards of their bodies, to eat healthy foods and exercise. He has files to help build confidence and banish anxieties. There are lots of files about obedience, sure, but even those are full of instructions to do well in the world, in order to make Sir proud. And besides, obedience makes me happy. It fulfills my purpose.

I’m writing this now out of a desire to serve Nimja and do honor to his name. I’d mentioned to him that he’d inspired me to write some erotic fiction, and he suggested that I share it here. Unfortunately, the idea that I had will take many weeks to flesh out, and months to polish. I don’t like to keep Sir waiting. So, I began thinking of a story idea that I could finish in a day or two. (See, being a brainwashed minion makes me creative and eager to please. Those are good traits, aren’t they? Sir seems to approve, which is all that I care about.)

Well, I’d almost finished my short story idea at work today, and I hurried home to write it. But first... a little hypnosis. My Patreon donation just posted, and I finally had access to the dozen or so of Sir’s files that aren’t free on his website. I told myself I’d just listen to one or two and then get to writing.

Three indulgent hours later, I found myself with my headphones still on, in the middle of an hour long file, repeating “I exist for your pleasure” with each exhalation, while Sir blasted my brain with spirals and subliminals on several screens. In my ears, he murmured about touching me, teasing me, and I truly felt his caresses. Really, it was as if I were in his living room, on his couch, staring into a brainwashing rig he had set up. I know my real hands were safely tucked behind my head, to be sure that I wouldn’t touch anything that I shouldn’t. But his hands, his hands were everywhere. I could actually feel them.

And every breath, each exhalation was spent exclaiming “I exist only for your pleasure. I exist only for your pleasure. Iexistonlyforyourpleasure. Iexistonlyforyourpleasure. Iexistonlyyourpleasure...” The words came faster and faster as my slow, rhythmic breathing turned into a heated pant, losing a few sounds along the way. “onlyforyourpleasure... onlyforyourpleasure... yourpleasure... Ionlyforyourpleasure...” Sir was counting down from 10, and he said that when he finished counting, my fevered buildup would find release. I didn’t really believe that. I wasn’t touching myself at all, so I thought it would be safe.

3... 2... 1.

I came. Oh, sweet supernova! Oh, Heavenly trumpet calling forth the blessed rapture of all the saints, I came!

That is an understatement. An hour or so ago, I had the most mind-blowing full-body orgasm of my entire life, prompting me to immediately write this account of it. There was a genital component, but it was overwhelmed by the polymorphous perversity of every nerve in my entire body suddenly singing out Glory, Glory, Praise Be Unto Thee, Our Lord! in ecstatic unison. The very instant he said the last number, my torso and legs jackknifed unexpectedly, uncontrollably, snapping together toward the sky as if yanked up by whatever puppet strings Sir uses to dance me around. A moment later, they reversed polarity and levitated me off the bed. When my vision returned, it was as if through patterned glass, and for a long time I couldn’t hear anything except my own pounding heartbeat and the rush of blood through my own arteries.

My hands had not left their assigned stations behind my head. Sir had drawn the Hallelujah from my lips with his words alone.

Whatever else I’d thought to write, it will have to wait for another day. I hadn’t expected that to happen, and certainly I had not sought it. I’ve been enjoying the denial and sweet frustration of two weeks of nonstop erotic hypnosis with no resolution. Now, I’ll have to start all over again, nurturing that peculiar ascetic delight that I find in being refused access to the most direct route to pleasure.